The Gift of Warmth (and Whimsy)

Barring someone gifting me with an easy-to-setup 12-inch Dobsonian telescope — and a place to store it — I’ve primarily got warmth and comfort on my mind for the coming season of winter stargazing.

So naturally, I bought myself a Tigger onesie pajamas costume, like you do.

Okay, so bear (tiger?) with me here.

Winter is my favorite stargazing season. The night is not only longer, it’s darker and often clearer than at any other time of year. On those crisp nights free from clouds, the stars are sharp diamonds in the sky.

A few years ago, the temperature plunged below freezing one clear winter night. Despite the chilly conditions, I was determined to recline outside in my zero-gravity chair — which maybe should have been renamed the “sub-zero lounge” — to scan the sky with my binoculars for as long as I could stand it. I bundled up in layers of winter clothing, including multiple pairs of thick socks and at least two hats, and then zipped myself inside my winter-rated sleeping bag to enjoy the spectacular view. I lasted longer than I expected — a whopping 28 minutes — before I fled back inside, no longer able to feel my face. I have yet to best that record.

Maybe part of the fun of winter observing used to be the cold settling into my bones and my breath freezing on the air as I strapped chemical hand warmers to my telescope with rubber bands in lieu of a proper dew heater. Chilly numbness spreading across my cheeks and nose and making my fingers sluggish was just part of the package. But with age has come the wisdom that it’s pointless to “suffer for the stars” when such discomfort can be mitigated.

I mean, yes, my smart telescope allows me to sit inside under a blanket and watch episodes of Star Trek: Voyager while the scope spins around in the blistering cold to image the cosmos — and, frankly, that alone seems nothing short of miraculous. But that arrangement sometimes feels a little like cheating, and also a bit empty. This winter, I’d like to spend some quality time actually under the stars while many of my favorite celestial sights come into view.

So, the Tigger onesie. The garment is made of medium-weight fleece. It zips up the front and is cuffed at the wrists and ankles. It has a character-face hood and a tail. And it is the coziest thing I have ever worn.

I sized up for the purpose of being able to layer warm clothes beneath. It is also orange, which I hope will make me more visible to others, assuming I allow anyone to witness me in this fanciful getup. I might acquire a pair of black and orange fingerless gloves for added warmth, and so that my hands look like paws and my fingers resemble claws. Who says stargazing can’t be silly fun?

I ordered a second fleece onesie in a darker print called “space.” While the fabric has what look like stars on a black background, it also features a festival of bright colors and strange shapes in a pattern I’d instead call “movie theater carpet.” Not quite as thick as the Tigger pajamas, this one is plenty warm and might allow me to be more surreptitious about my winter stargazing comfort.

Both onesies have the additional advantage of deep pockets for my red-light flashlight, reading glasses, and phone. They also offer ease of movement, unlike the wearable sleeping bag I experimented with a few seasons ago. A wearable sleeping bag is a great idea, but only if you’re a lot taller than I am at 5' 3". The opening at the bottom means I can technically walk around while remaining warm inside of it, but the bag’s length requires me to use both hands to lift the quilted material to keep from tripping, as though I’m a Southern belle in a wide hoop skirt descending a staircase. With this added difficulty maneuvering in the dark, it’s precarious to carry eyepieces or anything fragile or precious. I abandoned the wearable sleeping bag after only a couple of observing sessions.

The Tigger onesie has kept me comfortable so far this early winter during extended forays outside to check sky conditions, even when I linger to orient myself beneath a familiar and cheering tapestry of stars. With a sweater and heavy sweatpants underneath, I can stay out longer. I am a cozy Tigger looking up in awe.

I occasionally wonder what the neighbors think, should they peek out a window and spy my cartoon cosplay as I set up my observing equipment. Maybe they’ll be inspired to give themselves the gift of warmth and whimsy, too, as they pursue their own cold-weather interests. Perhaps a Piglet, Pooh, or Eeyore will show up to my next neighborhood star party — but there’s only one Tigger.

So that’s my plan for staying snug under the stars. And in case my Secret Santa asks, the next stargazing comfort item I’ve got my eye on is a cordless heated blanket for even longer winter nights of wonder.